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Sunday, February 22, 2015

WHENEVER I overhear someone say he “enjoys” residency—as if it were as easy as window shopping or reading Danielle Steele—a part of me doubts him. Either he's exaggerating the ease of his transition into residency life, or he's not doing what he's supposed to do. Medical training is hard work—more so during the first year.
There are moments, cherished and unforgettable, that keep the stresses away, albeit temporarily—moments like that otherwise uneventful afternoon when the mother of my patient handed me a warm sandwich with iced tea. I had just finished checking up on her daughter, who was hooked on mechanical ventilator because of a lung infection, when she came to me with plastic bag full of food. She was profuse with thanks, and she wouldn't hear me out when I told her it meant a lot to me, her gesture, but she should've saved the money to buy medicine. They were hard on cash; her husband was a contractual worker. But the best thing I could do was to receive her gift—the best lunch I've had in a while. True thanksgiving, I suppose, knows no bound. The heart of the giver overflows; the receiver is filled with joy to the brim.

Similar to the Biblical account of woman who gave her all to the synagogue as offering, as opposed to the rich man who may have given a lot but not wholeheartedly. But that's stretching the story too far. Thanks so much, Taweng. I'm referring a few patients to Hospice, by the way. Hehe.

One of the nicest personal experiences I've read in a while now. No photo, no quotes, no fancy words. But it felt real while I was reading it, as if I was there. Thanks for sharing this heartwarming experience.